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Authors: Missy Johnson
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on my bed and walked back out to the living room/kitchenette.
“Is there, uh, a bathroom?” I asked, rubbing my neck. Of all the days to get my period, it had to be today. This was going to be hell.
Sax shook his head. “Well, there is but it doesn’t work. Don’t worry, we pass a lot of gas stations. Anytime you need to stop, just say the word.”
I nodded and slid into the seat closest to me. Why had I thought this was a good idea? Forget the fact that this was an awesome opportunity for my career; I was a seventeen-year-old girl embarking on a road trip with four guys in their mid-twenties. How could that not be a recipe for trouble?
My age hadn’t been mentioned since Sax had taken copies of my particulars. I’d spent so long being Micah that it was second nature to me now. It was only situations like this where I remembered how young I really was.
Stop being such a girl. You can take care of yourself. You have for the last three years; why is this any different?
I buckled my seat belt as we took off down the street. Harry was driving, with Liam sitting in the front next to him. Will and Kam—both who I’d had little contact with to date—sat down the back. Sax sat opposite me. His eyes were closed, arms crossed, and his feet stretched out on the seat next to him. I took the moment to study him.
My heart fluttered like a freaking schoolgirl whenever he was within two feet of me—which I suppose was fitting, considering I technically should still have been in school.
His dark, wavy hair looked like it had never met a brush, but it didn’t matter—the bed head suited him. He had three-day stubble going on, which made him look even sexier . . . if that were possible. He wore his usual tee shirt and jeans, which displayed his muscular, athletic frame perfectly.
Wetting my lips, I forced myself to turn away. The last thing I needed was him catching me staring at him. Pulling out my iPod, I slipped in my earphones and hit shuffle. Closing my eyes, I rested my head against the window and let the sounds of the Arctic Monkeys fill my head.
I felt something hit me in the face. Opening my eyes, I reached down and grabbed the crumpled up bit of paper and glanced at Sax.
He sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, a wicked smile on his face. “Do you always sing so loudly?”
“Isn’t that the point?” I asked, my voice dry as I plucked the earphones out and dropped them into my lap. “To sing?”
“Sure, but you don’t need to do it all the time,” he teased. “Like, I’m sure even the best chefs in the world occasionally have baked beans on toast for dinner.”
I shrugged. “Singing relaxes me. It calms me down when I’m stressed.”
“What do you have to be stressed about?” he chuckled.
“Oh, I don’t know—performing six nights a week for the next few weeks with a band I’ve just joined?” I made a face. “I’m nervous about fucking it up.”
“Don’t even think about it. Seriously,” he said, noting my skeptical expression. “Just treat every show like a rehearsal. The point of this is to get you comfortable with singing with the band before we tackle bigger things like the LA Festival.”
“Seems like a lot of trouble to go through get me comfortable,” I mumbled.
“It’s not just about that. I mean, the exposure you guys will be getting is great, and most of the shows have sold out, but I couldn’t think of a better way than this to get you ready. You can’t really prepare yourself, if that makes sense. The best way to get to a point where you can handle the nerves is to play in front of people.”
“I guess that makes sense. But I’ve played in front of people before. I’ve done quite a few open mic nights.”
“With no pressure, right? Nobody cared if you fucked up. You could completely forget half your shit and it would still be fine. It’s different when people are coming to see you. Even more pressure when you’re in a band and their success
“Is there, uh, a bathroom?” I asked, rubbing my neck. Of all the days to get my period, it had to be today. This was going to be hell.
Sax shook his head. “Well, there is but it doesn’t work. Don’t worry, we pass a lot of gas stations. Anytime you need to stop, just say the word.”
I nodded and slid into the seat closest to me. Why had I thought this was a good idea? Forget the fact that this was an awesome opportunity for my career; I was a seventeen-year-old girl embarking on a road trip with four guys in their mid-twenties. How could that not be a recipe for trouble?
My age hadn’t been mentioned since Sax had taken copies of my particulars. I’d spent so long being Micah that it was second nature to me now. It was only situations like this where I remembered how young I really was.
Stop being such a girl. You can take care of yourself. You have for the last three years; why is this any different?
I buckled my seat belt as we took off down the street. Harry was driving, with Liam sitting in the front next to him. Will and Kam—both who I’d had little contact with to date—sat down the back. Sax sat opposite me. His eyes were closed, arms crossed, and his feet stretched out on the seat next to him. I took the moment to study him.
My heart fluttered like a freaking schoolgirl whenever he was within two feet of me—which I suppose was fitting, considering I technically should still have been in school.
His dark, wavy hair looked like it had never met a brush, but it didn’t matter—the bed head suited him. He had three-day stubble going on, which made him look even sexier . . . if that were possible. He wore his usual tee shirt and jeans, which displayed his muscular, athletic frame perfectly.
Wetting my lips, I forced myself to turn away. The last thing I needed was him catching me staring at him. Pulling out my iPod, I slipped in my earphones and hit shuffle. Closing my eyes, I rested my head against the window and let the sounds of the Arctic Monkeys fill my head.
I felt something hit me in the face. Opening my eyes, I reached down and grabbed the crumpled up bit of paper and glanced at Sax.
He sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, a wicked smile on his face. “Do you always sing so loudly?”
“Isn’t that the point?” I asked, my voice dry as I plucked the earphones out and dropped them into my lap. “To sing?”
“Sure, but you don’t need to do it all the time,” he teased. “Like, I’m sure even the best chefs in the world occasionally have baked beans on toast for dinner.”
I shrugged. “Singing relaxes me. It calms me down when I’m stressed.”
“What do you have to be stressed about?” he chuckled.
“Oh, I don’t know—performing six nights a week for the next few weeks with a band I’ve just joined?” I made a face. “I’m nervous about fucking it up.”
“Don’t even think about it. Seriously,” he said, noting my skeptical expression. “Just treat every show like a rehearsal. The point of this is to get you comfortable with singing with the band before we tackle bigger things like the LA Festival.”
“Seems like a lot of trouble to go through get me comfortable,” I mumbled.
“It’s not just about that. I mean, the exposure you guys will be getting is great, and most of the shows have sold out, but I couldn’t think of a better way than this to get you ready. You can’t really prepare yourself, if that makes sense. The best way to get to a point where you can handle the nerves is to play in front of people.”
“I guess that makes sense. But I’ve played in front of people before. I’ve done quite a few open mic nights.”
“With no pressure, right? Nobody cared if you fucked up. You could completely forget half your shit and it would still be fine. It’s different when people are coming to see you. Even more pressure when you’re in a band and their success
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